


Now We Have the Salad

by MnemonicMadness



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Accidental Love Confessions, Bickering, Bodyswap, Canon Disabled Character, Chronic Pain, Drift Bond, Drift Side Effects, First Kiss, Getting Together, Ghost Drifting, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, M/M, Newton Geiszler Gets a Hug, Newton Geiszler Needs a Hug, POV Hermann Gottlieb, Pining, Post-Movie: Pacific Rim: Uprising (2018), Self-Esteem Issues, they're terrible at communicating when they're not bickering but they'll figure it out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:21:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24183544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MnemonicMadness/pseuds/MnemonicMadness
Summary: “Aw, come on, don’t be such a buzzkill. Just think about everything we could find out if we’d stay like this for a few weeks, or a few months!”“We’ve already subjected ourselves to every non-invasive scan the PPDC had readily available and agreed to save a backup copy of the error for further analysis and study. Theoretical study.”Newton rolls his eyes.Hermann’seyes. By Jove, even in his own mind this is getting tiresome. “Yeah, right, of course you’re all about theory...”“Yes! Has no one ever taught you proper scientific methodology? Hypothesis and theory are the very foundation upon which we further our knowledge-”“-and that’s why it’s taken you eighteen months to submit your paper on the Collatz conjecture as applied to quantum computational-”“Do not change the subject. I want my body back, Newton!”A drift gone wrong leaves them having swapped their bodies. Somehow, Newton seems strangely reluctant to switch back.(For the prompt: A learns how much chronic pain B's in during bodyswap & doesn't want to return body. B wants it back.)
Relationships: Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb
Comments: 38
Kudos: 93
Collections: Hurt Comfort Exchange 2020





	1. In der Tinte sitzen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ProblemWithTrouble](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProblemWithTrouble/gifts).



> The title is a literal translation of 'jetzt haben wir den Salat', a figure of speech meaning something like 'well, this is a mess'. The chapter title is also a figure of speech, literally 'to sit in ink', meaning 'to be in trouble'.
> 
> This fic probably would've been better in Newt's POV but I tried and he just wouldn't talk to me but I really loved this prompt anyway, so I hope you'll still like this? *goes to hide*
> 
> Special thanks goes to Tee for being the best beta, and also just generally being the best ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ I don't know what I'd do without you ♥
> 
> For translations, just hover the cursor over the German bits, or, if you're on mobile, click on the footnotes :)

“Newton, would you concentrate!” Hermann snaps irately at his friend and coworker where he is going on and on about some movie or other, although to his continued irritation, it doesn’t have quite the same effect when spoken in Newton’s higher voice.

If he is truthful with himself, the command is just as much for himself. Although he will never admit so out loud, and will do his utmost to ensure that not even a hint of this will bleed through one of their drifts, he finds himself having a new admiration for Newton’s usual levels of productivity. Not that he, as a man of science, didn’t already appreciate Newton’s particular brand of ingenuity, noisy and foul smelling and chaotic as it may often be.

But now, he looks down at his hands – well, they’re Newton’s hands, usually; broader than his, not as pale, covered in small scars from scalpels missing tissue samples and having come into contact with the corrosive Kaiju blood far too often due to insufficiently observed lab safety protocol – the way the fingers want to twitch nervously even as he keeps them in constant motion over the keyboard. His borrowed feet too refuse to stay still, incessantly shuffling back and forth and to the sides underneath the desk, or occasionally bouncing his knees up and down. It’s a miracle Newton ever gets anything done at all, as distracting as it is.

On the other side of the laboratory, Newton, currently in Hermann’s body, a sight equally bizarre as that of Newton’s face staring back at him when he looks in the mirror, is gesturing animatedly, a steady stream of words flowing from him, so much that Hermann fears his vocal chords will be sore once he, hopefully soon, gets his own body back.

“Dude, I cannot believe you have never seen Freaky Friday! Jamie Lee Curtis is a national treasure, and also, you would totally be way more relaxed about this situation.”

Despite his insistence otherwise, after ten years of perfectly well behaved laboratory assistants and the months that followed while Newton was still in the hands of the Precursors to teach him the error of his previous annoyance, he almost enjoys Newton’s chatter. However, to hear it in his own voice, low and grating, is making him reconsider his change of opinion. Added to that is the mortification of hearing his own voice as others hear it. Early on in their in-person acquaintance, Newton once told him he sounded like he’d gargled with gravel every morning. At the time, he’d take great offence, but now he’s starting to see the truth of the comparison.

Hermann lets out an only slightly exaggeratedly aggrieved sigh. “If there was any reason to believe that such a ridiculous movie would provide any relevant insight into our situation whatsoever, I would still neither need nor want to watch it since surely, you would be happy to provide it in excessive detail.”

“You do know that pop culture didn’t just stop in the 60s, right? You might _think_ you’re happy with eternal reruns of The Original Series, but I promise, Herms, I’ll get you to see the light someday!”

Hermann refrains from pointing out that in fact, his favourite is The Next Generation, as that is certain to devolve into yet another debate of Star Trek versus Star Wars. So he turns back to the screen with only a “How often must I tell you to stop referring to me in such a manner.”

* * *

The situation began as follows: The first sign of anything amiss after they come out of the drift is that the angle of the light just seems wrong. He doesn’t think of it much at first, merely irritated when he can’t seem to find his cane where he leaned it against the side of his seat as he always does, and where he has pointedly and repeatedly reminded anyone present to leave it. Which is when the utter lack of pain from his right leg registers, and he looks down, down at legs clad in skinny jeans rather than the loose slacks he prefers, legs that are shapely where his own are knobbly and bony, with thighs he has been longing to run his hands over for longer than he cares to admit.

His hands lie on them now, but they aren’t his, the fingers not spindly, no perpetual chalk dust clinging to the space under his nails, nails that are instead painted with what he knows to be Newton’s second-favourite nail polish. Despite having been applied only a day ago, it’s already starting to crack. The arms attached to him are covered up, but the left sleeve has slipped upwards a little, showing a hint of very, _very_ familiar tattoos he would never admit to having secretly stared at far too often. There are glasses on his face, but they feel wrong.

Then he abruptly whips around, not caring about the PONS still attached to his head, wires probably coming loose due to the motion, to the seat beside his –

And stares into his own face, an expression of shock that looks somewhat _off_ , and there is a familiar look of downright manic energy in the eyes. He is still speechless as he watches his own mouth open across from him, and what comes out is simultaneously completely jarring and yet unsurprising.

“Dude,” Newton exclaims, stunned, in Hermann’s voice.

After a lot of explanation and clarification for obstinate PPDC pencil pushers, and even more indignant lecturing by said obstinate pencil pushers, they are finally granted access to specs and codes of the current iteration of the PONS, something neither of them is usually cleared for these days due to lingering, ridiculous concerns of Newton reestablishing contact with the Precursors. Given Hermann’s orders to drift with him regularly to prevent such a thing, the same restrictions apply, though it’s an inconvenience he gladly puts up with if it ensures Newton’s freedom.

It takes him and Newton less than half an hour to find the cause for their… he really doesn’t want to refer to it in such a banal way as _bodyswap_ even within his own mind, but he has to admit that he can’t think of a better term at the moment. Though he certainly intends to in the future, if only to one-up Newton.

The culprit is the recent software update, a coding error that might even have been benign if it weren’t for their sheer level of compatibility, compatibility that is only increasing with every drift they share, and there have been many by now. So many that the brush of Newton’s consciousness against his own is almost as familiar as being alone in his head, and certainly less lonely. They truly are well matched, his structure anchoring Newton’s chaos, the chaos pushing him to think outside the boxes he tends to build for himself. He might even enjoy it, if it weren’t for the strain of hiding the decidedly not platonic feelings he has for Newton, that he has yet to find a way to get rid of.

It’s a rather obvious error, once they’ve spotted it, and they both stand there, marvelling at the idiocy of it – really, does no one proof read or test something as important and complex as coding to establish the neural bridge between drift partners – in a rare moment of perfect agreement.

Hermann shakes his head, bewildered. “What kind of– of– _Gurkentruppe _* are they allowing to work on this?”

“How old are you, man, who even says that anymore?” Newton snickers next to him, and Hermann glares, even if the main source of his annoyance is the fact that Newton’s laugh doesn’t sound as lovely when coming from Hermann’s mouth.

Having been granted access to the software and detected the error quickly proves to merely be the start of their work, as they deduce that neither repeating the drift with the same error still present, nor drifting with a corrected version would result in the reversal of their problem. They will have to develop their own solution from scratch.

* * *

“Hey Herms, what do you say, how about we stop wracking our genius brains for a minute here and go for some lunch? Getting kinda hungry here. There’s this new Mexican stand in the cafeteria, and I’m telling you man, they make a quesadilla that will blow your mind!”

Hermann frowns. He knows his body and its quirks, and by virtue of necessity he has learned to keep a very strict and regular schedule, at least insofar as his work allows. It’s barely half past eleven, and while he has been ignoring the rumbling of Newton’s stomach for the time being, he knows his own body won’t require lunch for another hour.

“Newton, you do not want the experience of ingesting food outside of my schedule, and I would thank you to remember that I am both lactose and gluten intolerant, so in both your own interest, as well as my own once I get my body back, you will have to restrain yourself.”

There is no hiding the pull of distaste on his mouth as he remembers having made this particular mistake himself. He ardently hopes they will manage to switch back before Newton accidentally eats something his borrowed digestive system disagrees with. Hermann is well used to dealing with the utter misery that inevitably results, but Newton…

Newton is all too familiar with numerous variations of misery, he has endured far too many for far too long. Despite everything being forgiven between them, Hermann still sometimes finds himself steeped in guilt for never noticing, for _10 years_. They may not have communicated with any regularity, but he should have known. They’ve spent so much time together before their involuntary separation, and considering that even back then he’d paid far more attention to Newton than advisable, he should have noticed the change. So even if it isn’t much he hopes he can spare Newton at least this.

“Come on, man, where’s your sense of adventure? I promise, if I get sick, I’ll stick it out for you and we’ll switch back later.”

“If yourself and various others are to be believed, I have no sense of adventure. And neither of us needs to be sick, if you would just listen to me for once!”

The ensuing argument wastes 45 minutes and by the end, they’re close enough to his schedule that he allows Newton to drag him to the newly built, food-court style mess area.

Perhaps it’s simply Newton himself who accounts for the difference in appetite anyway, as much as Hermann is stuck with incessantly twitchy limbs for the moment, the habit seems to be so much a part of Newton that even in Hermann’s body, he is in near-constant motion. The sight is strange, yet still oddly comforting.

* * *

“Aw, come on, don’t be such a buzzkill. I mean, look at us, this is the coolest thing ever! This has never happened to anyone before, ever, we should make the most of this! Think about it, Hermann, all the ways we could study this, everything it could tell us about the human brain, about consciousness, even with Jaeger technology and the whole new field of neurology that’s come from the drifting tech, we’ve barely even scratched the surface! Just think about everything we could find out if we’d stay like this for a few weeks, or a few months!”

“We’ve already subjected ourselves to every non-invasive scan the PPDC had readily available and agreed to save a backup copy of the error for further analysis and study. _Theoretical_ study.”

Newton rolls his eyes. _Hermann’s_ eyes. By Jove, even in his own mind this is getting tiresome. “Yeah, right, of course you’re all about theory...”

“Yes! Has no one ever taught you proper scientific methodology? Hypothesis and theory are the very foundation upon which we further our knowledge, without the theoretical aspects of science, any experimental data would be fundamentally flawed to the point of being meaningless-”

“-and that’s why it’s taken you eighteen months to submit your paper on the Collatz conjecture as applied to quantum computational-”

“Do not change the subject. I want my body back, Newton!”

It’s not as though Hermann isn’t curious. After all, the allure of anything scientific, anything surprising that promises new discovery has been a constant throughout his life, and perhaps under other circumstances, his fascination with this strange occurrence might’ve outweighed his will to resolve it as soon as possible. If it weren’t for Newton, and the way he’d given a quickly suppressed hiss when he’d first gotten up from his seat immediately after the drift. If it weren’t for how well Hermann knows his own body, knows the cramps and spasms in his bad leg, knows the constant background level of pain, better on some days and worse on others, but inescapable on all of them because even the strongest painkillers his notoriously fussy systems can stomach only just serve to keep the limb functional.

If it weren’t for the knowledge, the constant reminder, that it is currently Newton who suffers his pain.

There is a twitch there, tugging at the corner of temporarily-Newton’s lips that Hermann just about catches before Newton turns away under the guise of fiddling with some thing or other. That alone might not be enough to make Hermann suspicious, but the feeling accompanying it certainly is.

Actual ghost drifting between them is a rare enough occurrence, but with their level of compatibility, the drift bond is essentially permanent. The majority of the time, it’s only a vague sense of the other’s existence, directional if they’re close enough, which to Hermann’s continuous relief after that awful decade, they almost always are; an increased ability to anticipate the other’s actions and needs on a not quite conscious level. Sometimes, it will leak over into their dreams, turning them overly vivid but incoherent between what their joint unconscious minds conjure up.

Sometimes, there will be moments like this. It’s not really actual thoughts or emotions transferring, but rather something more complex and indirect. Impressions of them. Concepts, not always easy to interpret.

This time, there is an overall sense of reluctance, the idea of unwillingness, and Hermann would see it as Newton’s disappointment over not getting Hermann to agree to stay like this for further experimentation, but there is something else to it. Not quite a sense of wrongness, more not-right, from a standpoint that might be ethical if it weren’t too subjective.

“Newton?” he questions, voice as soft and gentle as it will be for the moment, turning away from his so far fruitless attempts to solve their problem. “Newton. Are you alright?”

When Newton whirls around, the moment breaks. There is a wince he’s clearly trying to hide as the motion puts too much weight on Hermann’s bad leg, and it sends a stab through Hermann’s heart, redoubling his resolve to find a way to switch them back as soon as possible.

“What? Haha, yeah, why wouldn’t I be, didn’t I mention this is _so cool?_ I know you’re allergic to fun, but you could at least try! Think about it, Herms, either way, right now you’re inside me and you should enjoy it!”

Hermann almost chokes at the double entendre, involuntarily wonders whether Newton did that on purpose or didn’t even notice, and quickly and firmly decided that he doesn’t want to know either way.

“After doing my own cooking in college, my stomach is an indestructible waste processing plant, you can guzzle all the gluten and lactose you’ve never gotten the chance to! And oh, I know what! You hate shopping, and I’ve always wanted to see you in something that doesn’t look like your grandpa bought it for you. From a thrift shop. And not even the cool kind of thrift shop with all that vintage stuff you don’t find anywhere else anymore. Now I can just go and pick out some cool outfits for you and I won’t even have to drag you along!”

Hermann has a brief but horrifying image of himself in leather and obnoxiously patterned skinny ties flash before his eyes. They might look endearing on Newton, but that is the extent of Hermann’s tolerance for them.

“Absolutely not!”

“Did I mention how much of a buzzkill you are? Fine. Can we at least go out, I dunno, to a bar or something? Or grab a coffee? What time is it even? See that, Hermann, we’ve been at this for so long I’ve lost all sense of time.”

“That would worry me more if you’d ever had any in the first place. And as I’ve told you already multiple times, if you would just concentrate and work with me, I’m sure we would find a solution much sooner. Neurology is more your area after all and I would appreciate it if you’d for once put your knowledge to good use.”

“Oh, so now he admits that he can appreciate my genius input! Are you feeling alright there, Herms? You do realise you just said that out loud? See, we should definitely take a break from this, you know, get some fresh inspiration, get back to it later. Or tomorrow. Hey, if you don’t want to go anywhere, we could video-call Tendo, see what he’s up to, and how long it’ll take him to figure out that we’re switched!”

Hermann graciously elects to ignore that particular suggestion for now in favour of observing Newton more closely. They’ve both worked far longer hours than this during the war, and afterwards as well, something he likes to blame on Newton’s influence lingering after their first drift, as surely, without that he would have established a reasonable sleeping schedule for himself once given the chance. He doesn’t point it out.

No, what takes priority right now is Newton’s highly unusual insistence on taking a break. If there’s one person more prone than Hermann to skipping meals in favour of work, one person who will leave the laboratory after him, it’s Newton.

His eyes wander to where not-really-Newton’s hand is clutching the grip of Hermann’s cane tight enough to leave him white-knuckled. How long has it been since Newton sat down? How long since he walked properly, instead of only occasionally shifting while standing in place, something Hermann has long learned via hours upon hours near-motionless in front of his chalkboard is amidst the things furthest from ideal?

“Newton.” he calls gently. “Is my leg bothering you? I have some stronger medication in my room, if you’d like me to get it for you.” He rarely resorts to those, as the side effects are very unpleasant, but he hopes that by the time they’d truly set in, they might be ready to switch back. He’d choose to put up with them later in a heartbeat to save Newton from his pain now.

“What? Hah, no, not at all! Really Hermann, I don’t get why you’re complaining all the time. I mean, I’ve had worse paper cuts!”

There is no helping the irritated huff that escapes him, but it’s more worry than anything else. He is all too familiar with what his own face looks like when he’s in pain, and now that he has, he can no longer not see the characteristic tension around his eyes.

“Fine,” he forces out, as if it’s of great inconvenience to him. It is. He’d rather see Newton returned to his blessedly pain-free body as soon as possible, but that wish is outweighed by the benefit an hour or so of very mild exercise and rest will bring his leg. “If you promise me that you’ll refrain from inflicting anything stronger than Schorle* on my stomach, we can go to that café you like so much for reasons that continue to escape me.”

* * *

By the time Hermann finally finds a solution and drags a reluctant Newton into the part of the building originally meant for young cadets to practice drifting, it is well into the night, so far that it can almost be considered morning, and he is deeply exhausted and thoroughly irritated.

Newton has been of no help whatsoever, rather the opposite, first refusing to provide any useful insight, then insisting on being as much of a distraction as he is capable of, which, given the fact that he is Newton, combined with the fact that Hermann is, for some reason and surely an ill-considered one, hopelessly in love with him and therefore liable to pay far more attention to him than he should, is _extremely_ distracting. And finally, once Hermann finally came closer to a solution, Newton just had to incessantly question and criticise, drawing him into four pointless arguments in just as many hours.

“Can’t we just do it tomorrow? Or on Monday? Spend the weekend running more tests and going over everything?”

“Are you that worried? You’ve admitted it yourself, and I do appreciate what it must’ve cost you to admit that I’m right, there is no reason to believe this method will be anything but perfectly safe. In the worst possible case, we will simply find our situation unchanged.”

Newton rolls his eyes. “I know that, I trust you, dude. This is just such an awesome, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and we’re what, just throwing it away like this?”

Usually, Hermann might have given into his own curiosity. He is loath to admit it out loud, but more often than not he finds himself of one mind with Newton regarding the opinion that _for science_ usually constitutes sufficient reason to do something.

But while their later afternoon break seemed to have helped for a while, his limp has grown steadily worse for hours now, and it takes most of Hermann’s considerable self-restraint not to step closer and force Newton to lean some of his weight on him. He tried doing as much six hours ago, it did not go well, and the nature of insanity lies in making the same attempt repeatedly while expecting different results.

So with every badly-hidden wince from Newton, every tight clench of his hand around the cane’s handle, every shuffled step that is slow enough for Hermann to all too well imagine the pain level, his urgency to return them both to their proper places renews. With anything else, he might have allowed himself to be talked around, but it is completely unacceptable for Newton to suffer Hermann’s pain even a moment longer than unavoidable.

“I’m sure the PPDC will look into our data and decide that it would be a brilliant idea to try to replicate our accident.” he retorts drily. “And I’m sure when it inevitably goes wrong, we will be called in to fix the problem once again, and we’ll have the chance to satisfy our curiosity then. When we, you know, are no longer our own experimental subjects.”

“Don’t knock a good scientific accident, Penicillin was an accident! And Teflon. And the microwave, which I know you especially should appreciate because I have tried your cooking before, and-”

“Da solltest du dir lieber an die eigene Nase fassen.” *

“Hey, man, I resent that! I will have you know, I make a mean chilli. Not that you’d know, since you apparently have the taste buds of a three-year-old. Are you sure you don’t want to stay like this, at least for a week or so? You can have some actual fun in my body! I trust you, carte blanche, whatever you want.”

“If your body is so much more _fun_ , you should appreciate that I’ve found the solution already.”

Newton shrugs, but there is one of those moments again, transferring less than a feeling, only the vaguest sense that there is more to this. “Yours isn’t too bad. Really, you’d think you’ve got one foot in the grave with how much you complain. There’s nothing a better style and a new haircut can’t fix!”

Hermann concludes a glare will suffice to make his opinion about that particular statement clear, though he isn’t sure what to read into the sense from the drift bond, but that can wait until they’ve drifted again and Newton is no longer in pain.

* * *

Electric blue flows into his mind, too bright and artificial, but he is well used to it now, lets it in with minimal resistance, and then, there it is again, that same sense from earlier, echoing throughout the day, over and over again. It’s stronger within the immediacy of the drift, the concept of it less vague, even if he still cannot make sense of it.

It’s a feeling, but it’s a thought too, one of reluctance and of resignation. Concession, grudgingly given at an argument lost. But it’s sharper than that, the catch in one’s throat when thoughtlessly screaming a last, useless denial, and bitter like something just to the left of guilt.

Worry swamps him, but then it’s dragged away by the riptide of them joining, and he scrambles to hide those parts of himself he mustn’t under any circumstances reveal, before he embraces the chaos of Newton’s mind like the old friend it is.

* * *

* bunch of morons [literally: cucumber troupe]↑  
* a mix of fizzy water and juice (most commonly apple juice), it's a Thing™↑  
* look who's talking [literally: you should rather touch your own nose]↑

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're liking it so far, and that if you do, you might drop me a quick comment? :)


	2. Ins Fettnäpfchen treten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yet another figure of speech as a chapter title (yes, I was being lazy, let's pretend it's a style choice), literally 'stepping in the grease bowl', it's roughly the German equivalent of 'to put one's foot in one's mouth'.

Despite the relief of being back to himself, and the exhaustion being almost worse in his own body than in Newton’s, Hermann spends two hours laying in his bed and staring at the ceiling with increasingly dry eyes, after which he decides that he might as well get up and go yell at the cause of his insomnia.

His leg goes from a constant, inescapable throbbing to sharp, stabbing protest, and for a moment, his hand – once again the familiar long, bony fingers, blessedly lacking any nail polish – trembles with how tightly he’s clutching his cane until the worst of the pain has passed. This, he doesn’t blame Newton for. This morning it might have still been one of his better days, but unlike him, Newton lacks the decades of experience in dealing with and working around his disability, plus there is the sheer length of their workday to take into consideration, so finding the pain considerably aggravated once he opened his eyes after their second drift to finally find himself back in his own body came as no surprise.

No, all that does is drive a stab of guilt through him. He should not have allowed himself to get distracted, should have worked harder, should have found the fix sooner. For god’s sake he is the one who developed the programming for the first Jaegers; it should have been child’s play to fix their botched drift. Instead, Newton had to suffer his bad leg for the entire day and the better part of the night. It feels like he failed Newton all over again. That obviously helps neither his mood nor his ability to fall asleep.

What Newton is to blame for is the main cause of the sleeplessness. With two drifts in one day, the feel of him is stronger than usual, inescapable where it leaks in from the back of his mind. Usually, he would secretly find it comforting, something to erase the loneliness that’s been his companion for the majority of his life. Right now though, he constantly feels Newton’s too-bright wakefulness, the one he gets once he’s moved beyond exhaustion, a jittery, borderline manic sort of energy that is about as conductive to sleep as having a floodlight shone right in one’s face.

Once he’s adequately dressed, he leaves his rooms and doesn’t even hesitate as he walks past the corridor Newton’s assigned quarters lie in. Even if it weren’t for the drift bond acting as a kind of locator beacon and the frequent ghost drifts delivering snapshot glimpses of electric blue tinged lab equipment and Newton’s muttering, he’d know the other well enough to know where to look. And sure enough, the fluorescent tubes are shining through the glass door into the darker hallway.

He punches in his access-code with a little more force than strictly necessary and wastes no time sending his insomniac lab partner a withering glare. Of course, this is entirely lost on Newton, who only glances up long enough to give him an excited grin and wave him over.

“Hermann, come look at this, I’ve been going through the coding error again and I think I’ve found a way to modify it so that the exchange of consciousnesses should be stabilised and go more smoothly, so that it won’t be dependent on compatibility and mindset which makes it the shot in the dark that’s hit bullseye with us accidentally, but could in theory be safely applied not only for drift partners with a lower compatibility, but also to exchange only select aspects of consciousness and perception, although we should try it again first because I’d need to take some more readings with the existing version to make sure that-”

It’s a relief to hear Newton ramble at him in the voice that actually is his own, but he is sure to shove that feeling down behind the cover of his irritation before it can carry over to the other. “Newton! What in god’s name are you doing awake at this hour?!”

“Oh, come on, I just told you-”

“The main thing I gathered from that barely coherent verbal barrage is that I was right in coming here to send you to bed like you still need an adult to remind you of your bedtime!”

“Not everyone in their 40s has the circadian rhythm of a 90 year old grandpa. You’re welcome to go back to bed whenever you want, gramps.”

“Oh, I certainly intend to, except apparently _someone_ needs to make sure that you sleep since you obviously aren’t capable of looking after yourself, so _if you could just_ -”

“Der Gerät wird nie müde! Der Gerät schläft nie!” *

Newton may be turned away from Hermann and back to the computer monitor in front of him, but Hermann hopes that due to the drift bond he’ll appreciate the sheer force of his glare regardless. As well as the fact that Hermann blames him for understanding that reference.

“You do realise that there is very little point in lying to me when just over two hours ago I could experience your body’s exhaustion first-hand.”

“Well, what can I say, I guess I just recover more quickly. Which you can try for yourself when we switch again. For the readings.” Newton sighs, both voice and demeanour turning serious before Hermann can formulate what precisely he thinks of Newton’s plan. “Go back to bed, Herms. Look, I appreciate you looking out for me, man, but I’m good, I want to work on this some more. I really think I’m onto something really awesome here. I know you’re tired though, so please, get some sleep. You can still yell at me tomorrow.”

Despite himself, some of the irritation fades, and while he briefly considers telling Newton that it’s the echo through the drift bond keeping him awake, he doesn’t have the heart to put the inevitable guilty look on Newton’s face if he does so. The second best option then is to lean his cane against the side of the workstation Newton is occupying at the moment, let the desk instead bear the weight his bad leg can’t, and plant himself in place with a firm glare.

“No. We both know if I leave you alone now, you won’t get any sleep at all.”

“So you’re what, just gonna stand there and wait for me? Hermann...”

“If that’s what I have to do to get you to see reason, then yes.”

“Hermann, please, you’re tired. I’m fine. Go sleep.”

That is not deserving of a reply, so the next few minutes are spent in near silence, with Newton distractedly scrolling through and editing one of the copies they’ve made of the faulty code earlier. Hermann waits, watches him fidget under his glare while viciously suppressing his own urge to do so, the one that always lingers after their drifts.

Newton is the one who breaks first, although not giving in as Hermann hoped he might. Instead, he steps away to drag a chair closer.

“If you’re gonna be stubborn about this, which, for the record, _completely_ unnecessary, at least sit down. Your leg’s gotta be killing you like this.” The last part is said unusually quietly and Newton is refusing to meet his eyes.

But his assessment is not incorrect, as much as Hermann hates the knowledge that Newton is now very much in the position to make it, and so, after just another minute because yes, he fully intends to be stubborn and will have it known, he relocates to the chair with what Newton insists on calling his annoyed Constable-Odo-huff. Settling down on it with unspoken gratitude, the worst of the pain soon begins to fade.

Eventually, Newton returns his - at times really quite remarkable - focus to his work, leaving Hermann to watch him with silent appreciation. His eyes still burn a little. If anything, the brush of Newton’s presence against his consciousness has only increased with their physical proximity, yet somehow this is considerably more peaceful than laying in his bed alone in his quiet room.

* * *

He must have drifted off at some point, because he is slowly pulled from sleep by the sensation of someone gently covering him with a layer of fabric that, while too small to cover more than his torso and thighs, does offer some warmth.

For a moment, he is disoriented, because this is certainly not his bed he’s laying in. In fact, he doesn’t seem to be laying down at all, and it’s become a reasonably rare occurrence these days for him to just doze off in the lab, although judging by the smell that is indeed where he is.

There is someone talking, the voice deeply familiar, but he is distracted by a warm hand gently squeezing his shoulder for a moment. Even once he recognises the voice as Newton’s, his sleep-fogged brain still takes yet a few more seconds to begin consciously registering and processing any words.

“-ove with someone this stubborn, seriously, what have I done to deserve this? Why couldn’t you just listen to me and go to bed, Herms? I know this’ll be hell for your leg tomorrow. Or better yet, listen to me when I said we should just stay switched. Fuck, Hermann, it hurt so much and I can’t believe you have to live with that every single day, it’s not fucking fair. My legs work fine and I don’t even have any of your weird allergies, you should’ve just kept my body. I mean, I tried to end the world, so if anyone deserves to be in pain like that every day, it’s me, not you.”

He has known that it hurt Newton as much as it does him, if not more given that unlike Hermann he isn’t used to it, but to hear him admit it out loud sends a sharp pain twisting Hermann’s chest cavity. Though that is nothing compared to the feeling when Newton’s subsequent statements fully register.

His eyes fly open and he abruptly sits up, sending the spare lab coat Newton has thoughtfully covered him with into his lap. Newton is standing with his back turned to him, though he tenses up the moment he hears the creak of the chair from Hermann’s sudden change in position.

“Red’ nicht so einen Stuss!* You are a good man, Newton!” Hermann forces out, sleep-rough but insistent. He knows all too well that saying it, no matter how often, won’t make Newton believe it, and that even if he does so on a rational level, it hardly means he no longer feels this way.

Newton whirls around, eyes wide behind glasses he technically doesn’t need anymore but prefers to wear regardless. “H- Hermann! You’re awake! Why are you awake? How much of that did you hear?!”

“More than enough, and I cannot believe that all that, your refusal to work with me, all the interruptions, your insistence on taking so long at lunch, and then dragging me out for coffee of all things! All that, because you wanted me to keep your body? And why, because you think you deserve to be in pain because of something that was not in any way your fault?”

“I-”

This time, he barely even feels the searing twinge in his leg as he gets to his feet, the lab coat falling forgotten to the floor, and takes a large step that brings him almost into Newton’s personal space.“You are so fundamentally, absurdly mistaken I can’t even put it into words!”

“Let me guess, that won’t stop you from trying.”

“Of course not, if you’re insisting on spouting such nonsense! You are wrong on so many levels. Even setting aside that, impaired functionality or not, it is _my_ body and I’m very well versed in working around its inadequacies, thank you very much-”

“Look, I’m sorry, Herms, I know, but that’s why I’m working on-”

“-I am sorry that you’ve had to endure it as long as you did, and you most certainly do not deserve to be in pain. And I know I have said it before, so I know you know it, but you were not in control. Every step working towards ending the world was made by the Precursors, not you-”

“Yeah, except, whose idea was it to-”

“And yes, you drifted with a Kaiju, but in case you’ve forgotten, you did so to save the world! If it hadn’t been for you, there wouldn’t even have been any need for the Precursors to make their second attempt to-”

Newton laughs humorlessly. “Dude, you do realise that means ich hab’s nur verschlimmbessert.”*

“For once, _would_ you let me finish a bloody sentence! And even if you had any choice whatsoever, I would like to think that you know me well enough to know that I am very much opposed to cruel and unusual punishment, so how you could even for a moment think that I would tolerate you insisting to live inside my body as some form of masochistic self-punishment is beyond me! And that is not even to speak of how _insulting_ it is that you would consider this a punishment! Because this, this body that I’ve lived in my entire life, this injury that I’ve had for the majority of it, they are part of me, and-”

Predictably, inevitably, his voice has been growing steadily louder and Hermann is full on yelling now, and to his utter lack of surprise, Newton immediately follows suit.

“Okay, okay, I got it, I fucked up again! Listen, I’m sorry, okay, I-!”

He throws Newton an incredulous look, internally cursing himself for his unfailing ability to turn social interactions into screaming matches. “How are you so fundamentally missing the point?! I don’t even know why I’m still surprised that you would be such a complete idiot as to think you should live with my pain, that you would in any way, shape or form deserve it, when you are the one singular person who has suffered more than enough! I cannot believe that you thought there was even the slightest chance I would find that acceptable!”

“Yes! Okay! I got it, okay?! Message received loud and clear! We can stop talking about this now!”

“Oh, really, can we? Because if I may remind you, you just said that you wanted to _keep my body to torture yourself with,_ so as I see it there is nothing else even remotely as important that we need to talk about!”

The ghost drift only lasts for a fraction of a moment, but the sheer intensity of it is almost enough to make him stumble. The wealth of information transferred is always somewhat overwhelming, but this time, it swamps the entirety of him. His vision goes blue and overlaid over his own perception of Newton’s furious face is that of his own from Newton’s perspective, but he can barely give it any notice because the feeling from the other end of the drift crashes over him like a tidal wave, pulls him under like a rip current, overrides everything else for the fraction of a second it lasts. It’s hurt, an all-consuming, twisting, nauseous pain that leaves him reeling and still not recovered by the time the blue clears from his eyes and leaves only Newton, yelling at the top of his lungs right into his face, flushed with rage but eyes filled with that awful pain.

“So me telling you that I’m fucking _in love with you_ is nothing important?! You’re just gonna ignore that?!!”

Hermann blinks. Blinks again, into the uncharacteristic silence between them, an impossible moment where one could hear a pin drop in their lab. Hysterically, he thinks he now knows exactly how a computer feels when it’s blue-screening. His mind feels distant and sluggish when he forces himself to think back to his waking moments, before he got caught up in his horror at the thought that Newton believed he deserved to suffer. Before it, there was that half sentence, the beginning of it unreachable where it’s swallowed by sleep, the latter half not quite clear, the sentence that…

“You _what?!_ ” He hears himself yelling back, still in a daze, because the thought of Newton… After all these years, maybe even _during_ all these years while Hermann never stopped being in love with him… He can only watch as Newton’s angry flush briefly grows darker before suddenly all colour drains from his face.

“Scheiße.* You… Hermann, you- You didn’t hear that part?”

Hermann swallows with the sudden, new level of horror as he recalls just a moment ago claiming there’s nothing else of importance to talk about, the - it cannot be anything other than heartbreak, in the ghost drift, when Newton thought Hermann had heard him say that he… That Newton…

“Obviously not!” Distantly, he is aware that his voice is still raised, probably with the hysteria he can still feel clawing at the edges of himself.

“Obviously?! How is that supposed to be obvious to me when you were only talking about-!”

“Because it’s _obviously_ very important and if I’d heard it I wouldn’t have said anything to the contrary, because _obviously_ I love you too, du Pappnase!”*

It’s only after Newton’s high-pitched yell of “What?!” that his own words register to Hermann. He swallows but meets Newton’s eyes, so wide behind his glasses, frantically searching his own for something Hermann desperately hopes he will find.

Hermann clears his throat, breaking the silence, and feels the heat of a blush slowly creep up his neck when Newton just keeps staring. Then, finally, it sets in that the very same thing was said by Newton as well. That Newton loves him. A smile immediately follows the blush, wide and unstoppable, and he feels both lightheaded and just _light_.

It’s Newton’s turn to blink, incredulous, before there’s the beginning of his returning smile forming and he seems to shake himself somewhat from the stupor that Hermann can still very much sympathise with.

“Did we just yell love confessions at each other?”

The sheer absurdity of it makes him chuckle. “Yes, I do believe we did.”

Newton nods, as if it’s the most natural, most obvious thing in the world, but his voice is soft and high and breathy when he says “Of course we did.”

“Of course we did.” Hermann – for once readily – agrees.

“Hey, Herms?”

“Yes, Liebling?”* He would take greater satisfaction in the way Newton splutters at the endearment if he didn’t feel his own blush deepen and didn’t have the sneaking suspicion that his face is probably nearing the approximate shade of a tomato.

“Ahem. I… I love you.”

All of a sudden, he can’t take it anymore. He has never been a person to seek closeness to others, physical or otherwise, but Newton has always been the proverbial exception to the rule and before he has a chance to overthink it, he crosses the last step between them, and throws his arms around Newton in an uncharacteristically impulsive hug. There is only the barest moment of tension this time, and nothing remotely like the awkward pat on the shoulder the Precursors gave him when he’d hugged Newton in a similar impulse when he’d infiltrated Shao Industries. This time, Newton’s arms fly around his own waist in return and he practically melts into him, warm and soft and safe in his arms, and Hermann instantly decides that he much prefers him there rather than being the one to occupy that body.

“I love you too, Newt.”

Of course, saying this results in Newton pulling back as much as needed in order to look at Hermann, but seeing the absolutely _delighted_ grin he’s giving him, he cannot quite regret that.

“Did you just call me Newt?! After all these years, I’ve finally gotten you to call me Newt! Yes! Wait, is that a permanent change or your apology for calling me a Pappnase during your epic love yell-fession?”

Hermann affects a deep and weary sigh, though he suspects the effect might be ruined when he pulls Newton back into a proper hug. “Congratulations, _Newton_ , you’ve already made me regret it.”

“Haha, so you say, but you love me!”

“God help me, that I do.”

Newton clings back tighter.

There is no telling how long they remain that way, although clearly for a while, as he suddenly notices the increased lighting and activity in the hallway as well as his own fatigue, indicating that it must be well into morning. Still, he’d be quite content to stay like this for an indeterminate amount of time longer, possibility of being observed through the glass door of the lab be damned – he has the sinking suspicion that his rules about public displays of affection will have to be considerably relaxed from now on, although he cannot bring himself to be overly bothered by this – if his eyes didn’t happen to catch on the computer screen over Newton’s shoulder.

He starts deciphering the lines more out of curiosity than anything, but as soon as they begin to make sense to him, he finds himself drawing back this time, refusing to let go of his endearing but infuriating partner entirely but feeling the need to look him in the eyes.

“Newton, is that…?”

Newton makes an awkward half-turn, then visibly cringes when he realises what Hermann is referring to. “Uh, yeah, you know, you were insisting so much that you wanted your body back, which I totally get because you’re smoking hot, and it’s yours anyway, so I took a look at the code to see if it could differentiate between different aspects of consciousness and nervous function, and since it’s all just electrical signals, I think with a few more readings to let me calibrate it, it’d be possible to stay in our own bodies but just transfer a certain aspect or stimuli from one to the other...”

“Such as the pain in my leg.” Hermann concludes, heart clenching for the man in his arms.

“Yeah… maybe?”

“Newton.” he starts, then waits until after a moment of fidgeting while looking at something behind Hermann – at this angle it's probably an empty stretch of wall – Newton finally gives in and meets his eyes. He resolves to convince Newton to discuss his feelings of deserving that pain when he goes to his next therapy session, but for now, perhaps he can explain. “My disability, the chronic pain… It’s part of my body, and it has been for much longer than not. And I do have good days, when I barely notice or don’t mind, and yes, there are bad days too, and perhaps more than the good ones. And I may like to complain, and it may hurt, and I may resent it at times, but it is part not only of my body, but part of myself. For better or worse, it’s part of me. I have long learned to live with it and to work around it. It’s not that I deserve it, I’m well aware that I do not, but that is irrelevant because it simply isn’t about what I do or do not deserve. It just _is,_ it’s a fact of my reality, like equations, like gravity. And if there were a reliable way to heal it, then yes, I probably would. But this, simply having the pain taken away from myself and passing it on… No. I cannot allow that, nor do I want it.”

Newton looks thoughtful for a moment, uncharacteristically still as he takes it in and processes it, similar as to how he considers the results of an experiment. His lips fall open, and close again, and Hermann can feel a flash of hesitation across the drift bond, before in the end, instead of speaking, Newton strains upwards until he can press his lips to Hermann’s. For the long seconds the kiss lasts there is only the taste of it, warm and understanding, with a hint of apology, and the velvet darkness behind his involuntarily closed eyelids, occasionally interrupted by flashes of electric blue. The colour looks warm to him for this moment.

When they pull apart, Newton’s voice has gained a rough edge that sends a very different warmth through Hermann, although any consideration thereof will have to wait until after a full night’s sleep.

“Alright, got it, no permanently transferring any aspects of our consciousness. Consciousnesses? Consciousni? Man, today's been too much for my brain. Just for the record though, body-switching? Still one of the coolest things _ever_ , and I feel like there’s a lot of potential there just waiting for us to science the shit out of it!”

“For once, I believe you may be right, this could be rather interesting. But not now, I insist on both of us spending some time in an actual bed first. To _sleep_.” He emphasises, because he can already see the suggestive eyebrow-waggle before Newton does it. Still, he’s quite happy to let himself be kissed, and doesn’t even try to stifle his laugh when Newton has to pull away, interrupted by a yawn.

Still, Newton grins, scarred, nail polish adorned fingers intertwining with Hermann’s bonier ones. “So long as I’ll be getting you inside me in the conventional way after that, you’ve got yourself a deal.”

* * *

* The machine never gets tired! The machine never sleeps! [quote from a viral video; grammatically incorrect]↑  
* don't talk such nonsense↑  
* I only made it worse [verschlimbessern means 'to make something worse in an attempt to make it better/solve the problem]↑  
* shit↑  
* you numpty [very mild insult; literally: you cardboard nose]↑  
* darling↑

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Newt: Hey Herms, wenn sich ein Forscher ein Sandwich macht, ist es dann wissenschaftlich belegt? :DDD  
> Hermann: ...I regret being acquainted with you.
> 
>   
> Thank you so much for reading!!! I hope you liked it? This was my first attempt at this fandom, so pretty pretty please leave a comment, tell me what you think? :)


End file.
